The Better Woman vs. Miranda (anonymous) on FCF
Warning: Unfinished But Hot
Preamble by The Better Woman
Hey all, we did’t get a chance to finish this one, but it is so hot I figured you might want to read it! Sorry! :3
She showed me the scars. The empty spaces where fire-red hair used to be and should still have been. Her torn dress. And as she laid each of them out for me, some literally and others figuratively, she had a smile on her face.
Not just because she was my friend, no this smile was wide, beaming, and parted with speed as she told me about Miranda. How they had locked
And so here. I. Am. Staring at her beautifully short, dirty blonde hair from across her bedroom. Each of wearing short skirts, and blouses. My red top covering my 36D breasts, and my black bottoms covering my thick Latina ass.
“Ready?” I ask as I step towards you, even though I can feel it. The intensity. The electricity coming from the rival I have waited on for months on end for.
I’m standing in front of this new rival, my heart pounding with excitement and anxiousness…I flash back to my duel with Scarlet, and the beautiful intensity we went after each other with…scratching pale skin, strands of red and dirty blonde hair ripped out and strewn across the bedroom, our dresses ruined by probing claws…and just a few days ago I find out about this friend of hers.
Just like that, here we are…standing in front of you in a too tight navy blue blouse that hugs my 36Cs, tucked into an ass hugging black mini skirt, my tattooed thigh just visible…my hair short, nails pink to match my lips, makeup light…my eyes trace up and down your body, and we can both already tell that this will be another epic clash…”Born ready sweetheart…” I rely, hands on my wide hips, stepping towards you…
With your words spoken I step forward, one foot after another, until we are only a feet away. Separated only by our mutual and confident glares. But the time for intimidation and sizing up is over. And so slowly, cautiously, I raise both of my hands, one to either side of your pretty face.
Then, again, not wanting to trigger you into early action, I run my fingers through your hair, and without pulling or yanking, I take a firm hold — inviting you to do the same to me. My eyes never leaving yours. My own teeth biting my bottom lip, ready, so very ready to begin this. To fight you. To now only find out what entranced Scarlet so, but to show you that I am every bit the fighter she was.
We step up, shadowy eyes locked, a foot or so apart, chests rising and falling slowly…as you raise your hands slowly I recognize your challenge and reply in kind, reaching my hands up, running fingers through your soft hair, grabbing firmly without pulling and stepping in, our chests together in our blouses, staring into your eyes, heart pounding, scents mingling… “You ready for me bitch?” Smiling wickedly
I close my eyes for a moment as our bodies press together, our overly tight blouses straining to keep our breasts restrained and from waging their own battle. My every contour meeting with yours, as we step in, legs spread for balance, powerful thighs and calves preemptively flexing. But then you speak. Challenge me. And when you do, my eyes open, lips part, and I reply
“Bitch….” I respond, almost triggered by your curse, though I knew it was coming. Expected it to come. And had played out in my mind over and over again, when I imagined this very moment. But at the last bit of sound leaves my lips, my hands tighten, and I try to yank your head to the right hard, turning all that is soft and waiting hard and immediate. All that is potential real. In this, our first exchange of pain.
We come together and exchange the first of many insults, and as the hisses leave our lips, we both pull, you yanking hard to my left, my head bending, eyes narrowing in pain, an electric sensation throughout my entire body as I pull down with both hands, gripping tightly, trying to make you look at the ceiling, our legs spreading, chests tight together as we start pulling, the battle on, the war begun…”Emmphh…I’ll beat your ass like…unhhh…like I beat Scarlet’s!”
With our pulls, I twist you right and you twist me back, and though each such attack works, it bends us in a cross-angle, each of us folding back and to the right. Further and further. Until the position hurts. Until we stumble. Until we can barely keep to our feet. We should release each other. Let go, and re-engage, but not now. Not when we both have so much to prove.
And so, over we go, collapsing to our
We come together and get to our work, arms extending, yanking on each other’s hair, our eyes narrowing, letting out small cries of pain…quickly we’re almost doubled over to our right, feet shuffling…and as a point of pride, we don’t fucking let go, shambling down to our knees on the carpet, necks straining…I get a fresh grip with my right hand, soft strands twirling around my fingers.
”Slut!!” I hiss out in angry reflex, the rough carpet scratching my knees…
Again, it only makes sense to let go, to try some other attack on each other, but no. NO! Instead we each adjust our grip, and continue to pull each other — yank each other — tug each other over. This common mutual pull, one used in so many battles, becoming something more. A test of each other. Our will. Strength. Commitment. You curse at me, calling me a slut, and this time I respond.
“Fuck you, cunt…. I’m going to pull your fucking hair out.” Words spoken through gritted teeth as we bend closer and closer to the floor. Eventually, accompanied by more sounds of pain and torment, finding ourselves cheek pressed to the carpet, facing each other, bent over at the knees.
We pull each other down to the floor by our hair, my scalp burning, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed, hissing insults…on our knees we keep pulling and pulling, arms extended, leaning and leaning until we wind up on the floor, my left cheek pressed against the carpet, shaking back and forth on your long hair, trying to slide my right thigh up over your hip…
”Fucking bitch!!” Squealing, my short hair making it even easier to work my neck…
My eyes closed in pain. My scalp on fire from the pain. Feeling strands of hair pulling out of my scalp. And in that world of pain, I just exist. Not willing to let go. Not willing to move on from this, until something happens — something that shows you I didn’t break. But as I wait for such a release, I feel your leg raise to coil around me, and in an instant I move to engage you — locking my thick thighs around yours. Grapevining us, with strong, flexing legs. Somewhere in that sudden seizing, you find the leverage to roll me on my back, and then with our mutual pulls, mount me. Though our heads remain bent to the side painfully.
I feel your warm body underneath my thigh as I slide my leg up, my scalp burning, strands coming free, our legs tangling, sliding together, thick thighs battling as I manage to roll you onto your back, my head bent to one side, neck aching, my waist pressed tightly against yours, our skirts riding up, chests together…
”Fucking bitch!” I hiss down in frustration, alternating sharp pulls with my left and right hand, our bodies tight together as we duel, determined to prove a point with our vicious hairpulling…
Even though you are atop me. Even though our legs battle for control and to punish each other. We are stuck. Neither willing to give. Neither willing to start off our first engagement with anything other than a clear, unblemished victory.
And so we pull. And so we yank. So hard, and so continuously, that eventually all space between us is removed and our effort-hot cheeks press together, our beautiful, pain-etched faces looking in the same direction. From there, I scream at you in frustration.
“Let go of my fucking hair, bitch!” The strain of this contest, and anguish it caused clear in my desperate voice.
My scalp on fucking fire, my neck straining, my chest pushing against yours, fabric of our blouses hissing together, one button of mine coming loose, a peek at my pink lace trimmed bra visible…our bare thighs straining and sliding together, but all of our focus is on our fingers and hair, foreheads together, faces pressing together, cheeks, noses sliding…
“Fuck YOU, cunt, owwahhhhh!” Hissing insults and crying out in pain, I get a fresh grip of your hair with my left hand and twissssst my claw in, scratching at your scalp, warm bodies dueling…
Any other moment. Any other situation, and I would be in heaven. Our healthy frames locked together. Our breasts aligned and between us smashing together. Our equally thick thighs locked around each other, and doing battle as we find ourselves otherwise disposed. Our skirts hiking. Blouses coming untucked. God! Such a glorious scene.
But I find myself distracted. Laser focused on our hairpulling. But with each passing second I feel myself slipping. My ability to hang on. To continue this duel of will and endurance. My scalp pleads with me, as one strand of hair after another comes loose in your retightening hands.
“Owe, owe, owe….” I begin to whimper pitifully, as I can feel myself giving in. Only seconds away from begging you to stop. To submitting to you and your dominance in what has to be the most intense hairpulling battle of our lives. As tears begin to run down my face, only to find themselves caught between our pressing cheeks.
If it wasn’t for the searing pain in my scalp I’d be more than happy to lie in the floor tangled up with this beauty, our thick thighs tangled, my tattooed legs sliding against your long stems and flexing and battling…buttons giving, skirts hiking up past our thighs, fabric of our bras hissing now…but fuck, my head is fuzzy from pain, tears welling in my eyes, hair littering the carpet around us…we both cry out and whimper in pain, determined to hold out as long as we can…your silky soft hair in my grip, sweat forming on our bodies…
“Mmmmphhh!!” Grunting with effort and determination, shaking left and right…
“Fucking BITCH I HATE you!” Almost sobbing out my insult…
I have to hold out. I have to. I can’t lose like this. To you. To the girl I have waited for so long….
And yet, despite that “advantage”, as we continue, wounding each other for no reason other than the challenge and a need to impress one another, I can’t take another second of it. Not when I could be free. I should say it. Tell you I submit. But instead my tired fingers release, and my hands drop from your hair to the carpet with you still laying atop me. Intending on waiting for you to either accept my surrender or ask for more.
From my “advantageous” position you’re able to pull back on my hair and really fucking work my neck, causing me to cry out, almost sobbing, my neck feeling like it’s going to snap as you scream at me, our worlds consumed by each other and the desire to hurt more than be hurt…
I don’t know if I can keep this up, fuck, I see flashes of light and the pain is so intense, doing all I can to keep shaking you left and right, our chests together, breasts tight, hips bucking…finally, with a good
”Fucking BITCH, you want some more?!” Hissing
In an instant you strike, pulling yourself up onto my stomach as the conqueror you are.
Still yanking my hair. Still hurting me. And I know what you want. Me to say it. To beg you. To submit in words, not just in actions. And yet, as you look down to me, all you see is defiance in my tear-filled eyes. Not yet completely broken.
“Fuck you!” I spit in words through gritted teeth as you drag my head up, and in between your legs and under your skirt. Daring you. CHALLENGING you to show me your dark side.
Glaring down into your teary eyes, panting, my short hair matted wildly, stuck to my face…I pull back on your hair, lifting your head up, just under my skirt…and you curse back defiantly, which is fine by me…
“Stupid little WHORE!” I hiss, releasing my left claw from your hair, only to stiffly SMACK my palm against your sweaty cheek, the sound of the slap loud as a gunshot in the small room, my tattooed thighs on either side of your waist…
It is at once manna from heaven and then a
When you do, again, not willing to give you the satisfaction of my submission, I lean
Wanting you to know that I will fight you for every inch. And that even a momentary victory will never be enough. That we will be at war
I absolutely adore the feeling of your cheek under my palm, and the sound of the blow, and the bright red print my hand leaves on your precious cheek…then I grab your hair and yank again, a smile threatening to play across my lips until suddenly I feel your teeth bite down into my tender thigh…
“Aiiiiieeee fuck!!” Shouting out, I reflexively shove my left hand into your face, pulling my left leg back, moving so I’m on my knees beside you to your right, pushing your face into the rough carpet with my left hand, my right hand grabbing for the neckline of your blouse, pulling away viciously, buttons threatening to give way…
”You fucking BITCH, FUCK you!!”
The End (Story Left Unfinished)